


The intelligible world

by Petra



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good captain has to take care of his team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The intelligible world

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction that bears no relationship whatsoever to anyone's real relationships. Takes place in a fictionalized version of the 2007-2008 season. Thanks to [](http://lightgetsin.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lightgetsin**](http://lightgetsin.dreamwidth.org/) for beta-reading and [](http://jamjar.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**jamjar**](http://jamjar.dreamwidth.org/) and [](http://derryderrydown.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://derryderrydown.dreamwidth.org/)**derryderrydown** for enabling  & pre-reading.

[Never be dismayed]

Flower hasn't got his head in the game, missing shot after shot in the pre-game practice when he should be focused. It's not like him at all, and the ways he's fucking up are freaking Sidney out. The season started so well, and Sidney knows he's not the only one who's falling apart a little, but he can't stand watching his guys flounder night after night.

Coach Therrien can't get Flower to think straight--he tries, because he's good like that and no coach as good as Therrien leaves a goalie hanging when his teammates are sinking one in four. Maybe as a last-ditch effort, Therrien gets Sidney's attention and asks him to have a word with Flower before the game. He doesn't say, "Or else we'll have to start him like this, and we'll lose, so go earn your C."

"Sure," Sidney says. He's got plenty of words when he knows which ones to use. It would help if he knew what was going on in Flower's head, but nobody had said anything to Sidney about what was wrong before practice started.

"One more shooting drill," Therrien tells the team.

Flower gets back in goal like a puppy going into a kennel when it knows it's in trouble. That's not how he plays. Whatever's going on, it's not a hockey problem. Sidney can see it in the way he's blocking and not blocking. When Flower's hockey gets fucked up, it's not because of his focus--not like that, anyway. Usually his focus goes too wide and his angles go off, which isn't the greatest thing in this kind of drill.

But Flower's focus is somewhere inside his own head. Nobody's shooting from in there, and while he's stuck, he's missing all the pucks. It's so sad nobody gives him much shit about it while they're getting out of their gear, just a few half-hearted, "Come on, my grandmother could've caught those. Get a nap or something, eh?" chirps that Flower nods at.

Sidney changes slower than he wants to, keeping pace with Flower in the locker room till they're the last ones in there. That's weird, too, but it doesn't look like Flower has any idea there are only two of them left till Sidney asks, "What's up?"

"It's not about the game," Flower says, like that's going to stop Sidney from asking.

It might on some other day, except he's got a job to do and a coach who's counting on him to make the difference with one of his players who's hurting. "It started being about the game when you went out on the ice and turned into a butterfingers."

Flower looks at the ceiling for a moment and sighs. "Véro. We had a fight. I don't want to talk about it."

"Neither do I," Sidney says, which at least gets him to snort. "But I'll talk about whatever you need to talk about if it gets you back to one hundred percent by tonight."

"I'm not going to talk about it."

"Then you'd better leave it in the locker room." Sidney gets between him and the door out like he's the goalie here. "It sure doesn't belong on the ice."

"Yes, Captain, I know, Captain." Flower gets into his space and waits a second. Sidney stands his ground; he had worse face-offs than this in Midgets. "Oh, come on."

Sidney crosses his arms. "How are you going to make sure you're good to play?"

"I'm going home to get some sleep before the game, all right?" Flower crosses his arms like maybe he's mocking Sidney.

"And?"

"And what?" Flower sighs.

"And how are you going to fix what's wrong?"

Flower swears, one of the Québécois words that never sounds bad enough to be as rude as it is. "If I knew, I'd do it instead of taking a nap." He pauses another second, two, three, then lowers his voice. "Things haven't been right in two, three months. It's a fucking mess, and she won't even--" he shakes his head.

"What?" Sidney asks, though if it's something about Véro's emotions, he's sure he doesn't really want to know.

It takes Flower another few seconds, long enough to be awkward, before he says, "I'm bitching to the wrong guy here, but we haven't had sex in a month and a half."

"Oh," Sidney says, and ignores the part of his mind that's trying to remember how long it's been since he got laid. It's not relevant to Flower's problem. "That sucks."

"Yeah, it gets to you. Anyway, it gets to me."

Sidney's mental calendar gives him the day, two weeks previously. "Yeah, I bet. I get tense when it's been that long, too, and I don't have somebody I'm supposed to be able to count on like you do."

"Right," Flower says, drawing the word out a little too long.

"Does it help any to--" Sidney makes the universal jerk-off gesture.

Flower pushes his hand down and makes a face. "Never do that again. And no, it's not the same."

"That's rough. But whatever's going on with her--or, okay, not going on--we need you here with us." Sidney pats his shoulder. Flower's muscles feel much too tense. If it was a normal tension problem, Sidney would tell him to get a massage before he leaves, but it's not. "You want me to help you out?"

Flower's standing close enough that Sidney can see him blink a couple of times. "What--seriously? Like that?"

"If you want to--and if it won't get you in trouble with Véro."

"As long as you're not in love with me."

Sidney laughs. "No."

"Then we're good."

"We would be, if you got your head together. If you're as bad tonight as you were earlier, we're going to have our asses handed to us. You have to go out there as a Penguin and play like you know we've got your back." Sidney thinks of another possible way someone help and smiles, because there's no way Flower will say yes. "Or I could talk to Véro for you--"

"Christ, no." Flower leans forward--not that it takes a lot of leaning--and says in Sidney's ear, "You know I'm not--"

He doesn't have to finish that; the end of the sentence is obvious. "It's okay," Sidney says and thumps him on the back like he would if they were hugging. "I don't want to date you or anything, I just want you playing your best."

Whatever Flower's trying to say with his expression, there are about fifty things going on with it. Then after a second he nods and looks more like he usually does before a game, focused with a little smile. "Okay. Sure. How do you want to do this?"

Sidney checks the time. Even if he wanted to try to make something more out of this than what it's going to be, they both need to get some sleep or they'll be wrecked for the game. "Quick and dirty. Unless you usually need a bed full of rose petals?"

Flower slugs him in the shoulder and laughs. "Fuck you."

"In the washroom, then."

Washrooms aren't sexy, even the biggest stall is crowded with two adults in it, and the tile is fucking cold on Sidney's knees, but Flower's there with him, staring at him the whole time and trying not to breathe too loudly after he gasps and it echoes off the walls. The strained noises he makes after that when Sidney licks him aren't any softer, but they echo less.

It's fast as hell, and Flower's got his hand in Sidney's hair and his eyes wide, not pushing or pulling, just--there--for the time it takes to get him from washroom-chilled soft to hard to coming, his thighs shaking under Sidney's hands. When Sidney pulls off, Flower says, "Fuck," and sits down on the toilet, his pants around his knees.

Sidney grabs some toilet paper and spits into it as quietly as he can, wiping his mouth off with another handful. When he's less of a mess, he checks in with Flower, who's got his eyes closed and looks like he's going to nod off on the toilet. That can't be comfortable. "Gotta stand up," Sidney says, meaning both of them, and steadies himself on the wall. Once he's on his feet, he gives Flower a hand up.

He's in Flower's space again, but now the air between them smells and tastes like sex instead of ancient sweat. "Thanks," Flower says, and pulls his pants up. As he's buttoning them, he glances down. "Do you want--"

"No, thanks." Sidney unlocks the stall door behind himself. He hasn't been wasting time, exactly, but he needs to get his pre-game nap soon. The thought of going into tonight's game unprepared because he was too busy having fun is as good as a bucket of ice water down his spine. "We'd better get going. Game tonight."

"Yeah," Flower says, and they head out, nodding to the people they pass on the way to the parking lot. Flower's stance is already looser than it was on the ice, closer to how he should be moving, and that's as good for Sidney as a handjob in a washroom any day. "You're okay?" Flower asks when they get to his car, a row over from Sidney's.

Sidney says, "You're the one I was worried about," and bumps his shoulder against Flower's.

"I'm okay," Flower says. "Better than okay."

"Good. See you later."

Pre-game jerking off is usually on Sidney's schedule, right before he takes a nap. He's never done it while he thought about Flower before, but now he knows how Flower's breathing changes just before he comes, and how something as easy as an orgasm gets him out of the depths of his head. It changed the way he walked, and it has to change the way he skates. He'll be great, Sidney knows that, because when he's on, he's amazing.

It's not the thought of a few minutes in a washroom that gets him off, not by themselves. What Sidney's proud of, what makes him feel like he's earned it when he comes, is the thought that Flower will be better because Sidney helped him.

That night, they win 4-0. Flower's on fire, everywhere he needs to be at once, stopping absolutely fucking everything. Sidney wants pictures of a few of the saves, they're so perfect, and so different from the way Flower was earlier.

It's hard to find an excuse to hug a goalie in the middle of a game, but everybody's all over him at the end of the last period, smacking him and cheering him on. "Fuck yeah, man!" "Where'd you find that fire?" "Fuckin' amazing!"

"You were great," Sidney tells him when the shouting has died down a little.

"Thanks," Flower says, and grins at him.

Sidney grins back. Maybe he can't help Flower the way Mario would, but he's pretty sure he made a difference anyway.

Nobody says it out loud while they're celebrating the win, but Sidney knows--they all know, if they're paying attention like he does--that If Flower hadn't been a brick wall all night, Jordy could've cost them the game. He turned over the puck enough times Sidney stopped counting consciously in the second period. But that's not what a captain's supposed to talk about when people are toasting Flower.

Sidney saves it for the next day's optional skate. He can't leave it any longer when they have back-to-back games.

 

[Centred]

Jordy's there before Sidney arrives, which is something, but not enough. He's still skating like he can't remember how many feet he's got or how his stick's supposed to work.

Therrien gets Sidney's attention and pulls him aside while the other guys are stretching. "Whatever you said to Flower, keep that up."

"I don't know if I can," Sidney admits. The thought of dealing with everybody's relationship problems makes his stomach hurt. He can help with hockey problems any day of the week, but if Therrien needs somebody to work on everybody's emotions, he needs a different captain--even if the thought of giving it up so soon is awful. Mario always understands people's emotions, as far as Sidney can tell. "I'm not cut out to be a therapist." If that means he's not cut out to be a captain, he'll have to deal with it.

"You didn't try to give Flower therapy, did you?" Therrien asks, his voice low enough that it's hard to hear over the other sounds in the arena. He looks like someone just scored while the other team was two men down.

"No." Sidney laughs. He's not going to come clean about what he actually did--there are things you don't talk about, and his sex life is on the list in big letters, underlined three times. "We just talked a little. Nothing major."

Therrien nods. "If you get a chance to talk to Jordy a little, it's worth a try."

There's no way Therrien means what Sidney thinks of when he says that, so Sidney bites his tongue to keep himself from laughing, like he does when somebody cracks him up by mistake in front of a camera. "I'll try."

Therrien pats his shoulder. "Thanks."

He really is just going to talk to Jordy. That's the plan, anyway. Jordy looks like he's afraid Sidney's coming over to tell him he's being sent to the Baby Penguins and he'd better start packing.

He stutters a little when Sidney asks, "What's up?"

"Nothing. I mean. Nothing. Sorry about last night." Jordy shakes his head. "I don't know where my head was."

"Everybody has bad nights." That's one of the basic truths about life Sidney hates most, but he's not going to tell Jordy that when Jordy's already struggling. Sure, some days have to be better than others, but there should be a way to make sure they're all good. If people just worked hard enough, that should be enough. It's not, but it should be.

"Yeah." Jordy nods. He's probably heard that one a thousand times before, just like Sidney has. "This is a dumb question, but--you ever have days when you're just not where you should be? Like your body's one person and you're someone else?" Before Sidney can answer, Jordy laughs and says, "Like I said, dumb question."

"No, it's fine. I get like that sometimes." Sidney gives Jordy his best "We lost but we'll try harder next time" smile. "Usually when I get too worried about whether I'm going to fuck up, and then I fuck up because I'm worrying about it."

"Yeah?" Jordy's quiet for a second and Sidney wonders if this counts as what Therrien wanted from him, if it'll be enough to help get Jordy's head on straight. "What do you do?"

"Push too hard," Sidney says, because he's not going to start lying to his teammates. Jordy needs to hear the truth, no matter how embarrassing it is. "At least till I figure out what I'm doing, and then I back it off as much as I can. Nobody's perfect."

Jordy says, "If I back off, I'll get worse. There's nowhere to back off to."

This sounds like it's out of Sidney's depth, one of those conversations Jordy should have with one of the guys who does yoga or something to find his "center," whatever that means in yoga language--definitely not the same thing as when Sidney finds his center. "What you're doing isn't working. Try something you haven't tried yet," he suggests. Maybe Jordy has some other ideas he's afraid to go for.

If there's anything he's holding back on, he doesn't come up with it immediately. "Like what? I could get drunk or something."

"If you drink before you go on the ice, I'll fucking kill you if nobody else gets there first," Sidney says, and laughs so Jordy knows it's sort of a joke. There's no way he's telling Jordy to meditate, no matter how many good things he's heard about it from other guys. It sounds lame, and would sound lamer from him since he doesn't do it.

Jordy smiles. "I could help you figure out how to threaten people without sounding like a tool."

"That doesn't sound relaxing. If it wasn't nine hours to the game, I'd tell you to go get laid."

"What?" Jordy laughs, or maybe coughs. It's hard to tell. "No way."

"If it helps." Sidney shrugs.

"Haven't you had those coaches--you know, the 'no sex on game day or I cut your balls off' coaches?"

"Everybody has." Sidney checks to make sure there's no one around them, because his rules about what he'll say in public are strict even if it's for the good of the team, and says, "First time I got a hat trick, I'd just, you know."

"No way." Jordy laughs, then looks at him. "No--no way. Are you fucking with me?"

Sidney puts his hand over his heart. "Would I ever tell you something if I thought it might screw up your game?"

"No." Jordy blows out his breath, puffing out his cheeks for a second, and then starts laughing again. "So when are you going to start doing condom commercials?"

The thought of telling the world anything about what he does in bed makes Sidney's cheeks heat. "Shut up."

"Who, me? You're the one bragging about what a stud you are, banging the ladies and bagging the goals. Don't tell me it was a three-way, too?"

There are so many things wrong with Jordy's assumptions, Sidney has to laugh at him. "No. It would make a better story, but no. Just one-on-one. Well. Not the goals."

Jordy rolls his eyes. "Yeah, obviously. Not sure how I'm going to get it, this time of day. We can't all walk into a bar and say, 'Hi, I'm the second coming of Gretzsky, wanna fuck?'"

That phrase has always sounded blasphemous to Sidney in more ways than one, but nobody's ever made it sound quite that dirty. "I wouldn't say that even if it worked, and it wouldn't work with anybody worth my time."

"It's still better than what I've got to work with." Jordy spreads his hands like he thinks there's nothing to him worth having.

He's built--of course, or he couldn't play the way he does--and he's a good guy. There's nothing nasty about Jordy, whether he's cheering people on or chirping them to keep them smiling.

Sidney has one wistful thought that maybe he should try yoga so he can tell people it's a healthy addition to their routine, and then he thinks about the way Flower was in the game last night: as grounded and centered and bullshit-fluffy-whatever-you-want-to-call-it himself as he could have been. Jordy doesn't have the uphill battle of dealing with girl problems, too, or if he does, he hasn't said anything to Sidney about it.

It's better that way. Sidney would rather turn in the C than start being the team's Dear Abby.

"I'd do you," he offers.

Jordy laughs again, harder than he has all day, and swats him in the arm. "Nice one, Sid. That makes me feel a lot better."

Sidney waits. There has to be a way to come on to guys he knows that doesn't end up with them laughing their asses off at him or staring at him like he said he's quitting hockey and taking up Quidditch. Someday he'll figure out what he's doing wrong, but he's not making a lot of progress. At least while Jordy's laughing, he doesn't look like he's trying to read Sidney's mind through his eyes.

That part comes when he stops laughing, and it's much worse. "Wait--what?" Jordy looks around the empty locker room as if somebody could've snuck up on them in the last three seconds without Sidney noticing. "Are you fucking with me?"

"It might help your game," Sidney says.

Jordy's mouth is open for a second, three seconds. Sidney wants to tell him he's going to catch flies, but then he pulls himself together and says, "Fuck, man," softly. "No way."

"Do you want to or not?" Sidney asks.

Jordy makes a choking noise. "You think it's going to help my fucking game?"

Telling him about how well it worked for Flower probably wouldn't be encouraging, since the ways Jordy's going wrong are nothing like Flower's problems. "It's worth a shot."

"You don't have to jerk me off for hockey." Jordy shakes his head like he's got water in his ears. "Do you--do you want to do it?"

"Sure, or I wouldn't have offered." People make comments about Sidney's habits all the time as if they think he doesn't know how they look. He's aware of them, and he's aware that anything he does twice in a row is most of the way to becoming a new habit. There's no way the new habit's going to depend on kneeling in a freezing washroom every time, and this is the chance he gets to change the pattern before it's set in place. "I didn't hear anybody say they were heading for a massage after skate, did you?"

"Don't think so." Jordy follows him so closely, heading through the trainers' rooms, that Sidney wonders what he's expecting. If this was some stupid prank, he'd make Jordy go first so people could jump out and yell at him or stuff would fall on him. It's not like the massage room is spooky, even with the lights off and no windows. It smells like Tiger Balm and Ben Gay, enough menthol in the air that it's like walking into a room full of Vick's. Sidney makes a mental note to come down here the next time he's congested.

"Well?" Sidney asks, wondering if the smell is throwing Jordy off. It's not like it's surprising.

Jordy hangs in the doorway for a second, his shadow falling into the room even taller and wider than he is. "Does the door lock?"

"I never tried it, but there's nobody around." Sidney pats the massage table. "Are we doing this?"

"What the fuck, sure." Jordy closes the door behind himself, which leaves the room pretty dark, except for the light coming through the window in the door. There are lights in the hallways that don't shut off for anything short of complete blackout. "What do you want to do first? I mean, I'll, you know, pay you back and everything."

It's easier to say, "I could blow you," when Sidney knows Jordy can't see his face, or that it makes him blush. He doesn't know why it's easier to do this stuff than talk about it.

Jordy says, "If you're fucking with me--"

"Are you even listening to me?" Sidney grabs his shoulder and pulls him in for a kiss. He doesn't have all day to talk his way into Jordy's pants, whether or not it's going to help him.

"Fuck," Jordy says against his mouth. He needs to shave before the game, and it wouldn't hurt to boil the crap out of his mouthpiece, either, but once he's on board with actual kissing, it's good, and he relaxes against Sidney a little.

Maybe kissing would've helped Flower, too, but it's too late for that now. Besides, Flower got what he needed. If Sidney can help Jordy half as much, he'll be proud of himself.

"Come on," Sidney says, and starts unfastening Jordy's pants. Just because things are quiet right now doesn't mean they'll be alone for hours, and if someone walks in, it could get awkward fast. "Get on the table."

Jordy's got his pants and his shorts down and his ass on the table fast enough that Sidney wants to chirp him about it--if he'd been half that smooth in practice, they wouldn't be here now. "I can't believe you," Jordy says, basically whispering as if anybody could hear them in the hall. There's some sound shielding in the room because when the masseuses are doing their job, things can get loud.

"Just get your shit together, okay?" Sidney says, and bends over to suck him.

It's not the best angle or the best height. He's definitely going to have to figure out a way to do this without fucking up his back, if he's doing this regularly--which, okay, Jordy's tugging at his hair a lot more than Flower did, and swearing. It's good for him, anyway.

Sidney decides to wait and see how Jordy plays in the game before he makes a decision one way or the other. If it helps, maybe he can make a thing of it. If it doesn't help--Jordy's hips are jerking a little, and he's pulling Sidney's hair more than most of the guys he's done this with. Sidney's scalp tingles and burns, and when Jordy shoves up too fast he chokes.

"Sorry, sorry," Jordy says, patting his cheek blindly.

Sidney wraps his hands around Jordy's hips and goes down further, looking for the point where he can't quite take it. He likes pushing himself, but doing this with Jordy, like with Flower, is pushing himself in more ways than one. All the people who know who he is aren't allowed to know what he wants, and none of the people who know what he wants are allowed to know who he is--except Jordy's saying his name, "Fuck, Sid, fuck--my God--" and Sidney's going to feel him every time he swallows tonight.

During the game--but he knows he won't notice it then, any more than he'd notice a paper cut under his gloves.

He doesn't want Jordy distracted then, either. All he needs from Jordy is his best fucking hockey, and for that he needs Jordy right there with him--shaking under his hands, swearing a blue streak, pulling him off by the hair--"Gonna come, Jesus, your fucking mouth--"

It's enough warning that he gets his hands on Jordy, jerks him twice, and holds on while he's coming, his breathing loud enough that everybody should be able to hear it, sound dampening walls or not.

"Holy shit," Jordy says hoarsely.

"Okay?"

"Fuck yeah."

"I'm going to hit the lights for a second." Sidney finds the switch with his elbow. Jordy makes a hissing sound like he's some kind of vampire, but it's easier to find the sink with the lights on. No way is Sidney going to wander through the Igloo like this. He washes his hands and his face and gives Jordy a wet paper towel. "How are you feeling?"

"Good." Jordy wipes himself off. "If you hit the lights, I'll do you."

Someone yells, "Hello?" loud enough to carry down the hall and through the door. Jordy scrambles to get his pants on and Sidney sticks his head under the faucet, cranking up the cold water. Between the icy water on the back of his neck and the thought of the kind of shit they'd get in if someone caught them, he's a lot less excited when Steve, one of the trainers, opens the door. "Hey, Jordan. Sid. Can I help you with anything?"

"No, um." Jordy pats his thigh. "Sid was just helping me get a cramp out of my, um, thigh." He pats his leg again. "Good to go."

Sidney turns off the water. "Thanks anyway, Steve."

"Anytime. Kick some ass tonight, all right?" He gives them both high-fives and they get the hell out of the room.

Jordy's walking way too fast, like he's trying to get away with something. "Sorry, man. You want to take this somewhere else?"

"Don't worry about it. I have to get home anyway." Sidney gets his gear from the locker room.

"You sure?" Jordy asks. "I mean--"

"Yeah, unless you want to tell Mario why you're coming to my place for a pre-game nap."

Jordy snorts. "No. But I owe you one, okay?"

That implies they'll maybe do something like this again, which is entirely contingent on how well Jordy skates. "Okay," Sidney agrees, crossing his fingers by his leg where Jordy can't see him, in case he has to take it back. "See you later."

Jordy is everywhere that night, tearing up the ice every shift.

Sidney cheers him on louder than anybody, not that Jordy can probably tell. Whatever he needed, he's got it now, and it feels great to watch him at his best.

 

[Cheese with that wine]

There's no such thing as a night when everybody's at the top of their game, short of an honest-to-God miracle, and while Jordy's up, Colby's down, practically tripping over himself. He skips out on the team afterward and Sidney leaves him to it.

He sends a text, just to make sure everything's okay, and Colby sends _im fine_.

People who are actually fine skip their apostrophes, too. Sidney doesn't let himself worry about Colby till the next day when he's dragging at practice. They don't have a game that night, and they're headed to Boston tomorrow.

Therrien doesn't have to say anything for Sidney to check Colby--gently--and ask, "What's up?"

"Nothing," Colby says. "Just let me skate."

Of all the guys on the team, Colby's the one who would talk to Sidney if he had a problem. Or anyway, that's what Sidney would've said a week ago, but he might be wrong. He's been wrong about how close a friend people were before. "You want to get lunch?"

"Fine," Colby says, and pushes off the boards, getting as far from Sidney as he can.

"I'll give you a ride," Sidney offers after practice.

Colby shrugs. "You don't have to be my big brother, Sid."

"Okay." Sidney checks his pockets for his wallet, his keys, his phone, and he's good to go. "Take me out to lunch," he says, deliberately whiny. "I want pizza."

That gets Colby to crack a smile and shove Sidney toward the door. "Or else what, you're telling your mom on me?"

"If that's what I have to do to get some pizza, sure."

Pizza by itself isn't enough food, but pizza with all the kinds of meat they can get layered onto it isn't too far off. Since Colby's driving, he gets to pick where they're eating, and without having to talk about it they end up at his place. "So what's going on?" Sidney asks when half the pizza's gone. Sometimes being hungry messes with people's heads, even if they're normally pretty sensible.

"Nothing." Colby shakes his head almost like he did when they finished practice, but he looks at Sidney like he can't believe he's answering this kind of question over lunch. "I need the day off from the game, that's all. My ankle's acting up."

That can mean anything from "hurting a little"--and it's not like Colby would bother mentioning that--to "broken in twelve places at once." He hasn't been limping, so Sidney figures it's probably not that big a deal. "I can spot you if you want to work it out some."

"After all this?" Colby pats his stomach. "Give it a while to settle, and then, sure."

They're quiet for a few minutes, finishing off the pizza. There aren't that many people who let Sidney be quiet when he wants to. The media always have questions for him, sometimes about games he hasn't seen or players he doesn't know. His team's getting used to him, but some of them want to "get him out of his shell," which is dumb. He's quiet when he wants to be but he's not a turtle.

Mario and Nathalie are good about it, but their kids aren't always. Usually that's okay, because they're good kids, but every now and then it's nice to sit with somebody who's not asking about the future of hockey or what he thinks of somebody's new girlfriend.

"How are you doing, anyway?" Colby asks after a while. "Youngest captain ever."

Sidney has a bunch of canned responses for that when the media asks him. He's trying hard, he's listening to the coaches and getting advice from people who have been playing longer than he has, all that kind of stuff. Colby deserves something closer to the truth. "I think I'm getting the hang of it, better than I did at first, anyway." He thinks about Flower's problem and grins. "But the next time somebody tells me he's having girl trouble, I'm getting one of the As to deal with it."

"Tell me you didn't try to make anybody break up with his girlfriend." Colby frowns disapprovingly, so hard Sidney knows he's teasing. "I know the game's the most important thing in your life, but some of us have other needs."

"Of course not. But it's not like I know what to say about any of it." Sidney looks at the smears of tomato sauce on his plate and shrugs. "I might, if I'd ever had time for a real relationship, but--you know."

"Yeah." Colby nudges his foot under the table. He knows that Sidney hooks up, sometimes, but it's always with people he's known forever. The only thing that's wrong with Pittsburgh as far as Sidney's concerned is that it's a long way from almost everyone he grew up with. He hasn't been there long enough to make many good friends.

He could make a lot of not-so-good friends if he wanted to, but then they'd probably be interested in him because he's sort of famous and he's got more money than he knows what to do with, not because they like him.

Colby doesn't ask which friend he's going to hang out with when they're at an away game and Sidney heads out, or what their name is. He didn't do more than blink the few times Sidney mentioned he was spending the evening with Jack or Matt, and when Sidney tried to make it obvious what he meant, Colby had just said, "Keep your voice down and have a good time with your boy, okay?"

So they're good when there's anything to be good about, and there usually isn't anything worth mentioning. It's not like Sidney goes out and picks up random guys and has sex with them in washrooms.

Thinking about that makes Sidney grin again. "Anyway, I think I've got a new thing for before games. To help the team."

"Cool. What is it?"

"I'll show you tomorrow if your ass is still dragging, but you won't like it." Sidney hopes he doesn't have to follow through on that threat.

Colby rolls his eyes, but he's grinning. Sidney relaxes a little. "I'll be fine tomorrow. Shut up."

"Prove it. You ready to work off some of that pizza--and be really careful of your ankle?"

"Yes, Mom," Colby says, and Sidney laughs and flips him off.

Colby's right, both about his ankle not being seriously fucked up, and that he's fine the next day. The extra rest must have been what he needed.

 

[Min-max]

After their flight to Newark, Max's dragging his ass through the warm-ups like he spent the whole day off drinking, though he doesn't look like that's what the problem is. Therrien yells, "Come on!" at him a few times, but it's not doing any good.

"I got this," Sidney says, and Therrien gives him a quick thumbs-up.

He doesn't know exactly what's going on with Max, but they've got a game to play. When Max's good, he's had scoring streaks, but it's been a while since the last one broke. "Get out there and score" isn't going to do any good because that's what everybody's trying to do.

While Sidney's trying to figure out what to say to get Max going, Flower waves him down. "I wanted to say thanks," he says when Sidney's close enough that they can talk over the white noise of skates on ice.

"For what?" Sidney asks.

"The talk the other day." Flower sticks his tongue in his cheek.

If he never does that again, it'll be too soon. Sidney's glad he's got his helmet on, not that it's doing a lot to hide his blush. "Oh, fuck you."

"No, listen. I talked to Véro--we're doing better. I had my head up my ass."

"That's nothing new," Sidney says, and knows it's weak.

"I know. But it's better, and I'm ready for the game."

Sidney nods. "Good."

"Aren't you supposed to say 'You're welcome' when somebody says 'Thanks'?" Flower asks. "That's what they keep telling me."

"Well, obviously you're welcome." Sidney checks the guys around them and spots Max. "I have work to do, if you're done teaching me how to be polite."

"My work is never done."

Sidney ignores Flower and catches up to Max. "Somebody didn't eat his Wheaties."

"Bad night," Max says.

Sidney grits his teeth. He doesn't want to hear about it, whatever it is, but he asks anyway. "What's up?"

Max raises his eyebrows at Sidney. "Seriously?"

"Sure," Sidney lies.

"Couldn't get a date. Couldn't sleep."

"Ugh," Sidney says, and hopes that sounds kind of sympathetic. "Did you sleep on the plane?"

Max shrugs. "Not really. And now I can't wake up."

"You're never going to wake up if you let yourself stay asleep."

"What do you want me to do, pound four shots of espresso? Pop some No-Doz?"

Sidney checks the time. "You didn't get enough exercise out there."

If looks could kill, he'd have to duck Max's glare. "I'm not wearing myself out before a game."

"Not that kind of exercise." Sidney sighs. He's looking forward to when he's good at this conversation and doesn't have to spell everything out for his teammates. "Come on." He doesn't know the new Prudential Center well enough to find somewhere that's both comfortable and safe, so for this time, the washroom will have to do.

He's going to work on that, too, but not while he's trying to get Max to follow him without asking a thousand pointless questions.

Except once Max sees the stall, he starts laughing. "Okay."

Sidney says, "You need some focused exercise, something to stimulate the cardiovascular system and get your brain oxygenated. I know they say the best exercise is--"

Max kisses him and checks him into the stall.

Sidney isn't sure whether he's saying all the right things, or what, but he goes with it, and with Max's offer of a handjob. He doesn't need it to wake himself up, but it feels good, and it's just once. That doesn't make it a habit.

 

[Maybe a rutlet]

Sidney is getting better at asking people, he decides, when it's just as easy with Brooksie as it was with Max. That time, they're in a hurry, because there's no way Sidney's going to let the new stuff cut into the time he needs for everything else, and Brooksie tousles his hair and says, "You're something else, kid."

There are better times to be called "kid" than when Sidney really needs to brush his teeth and Brooksie is zipping up, but he's not going to complain.

It's hard enough out there for a solid D-man, who mostly shows up in the things that don't happen. There are people--too many people, sometimes--counting the shots on goal that miss, but the commentators don't talk so much about the turnovers that happen when the blue line is solid.

"Just keep it together out there."

"Yeah, you too."

The game after that, Jordy needs another boost, and it takes Sidney's best "I am going to check you into next week" glare to get him to shut up and take it.

"Come on," Jordy says, when Sidney's wiping his mouth off so he can leave without looking like he's been doing exactly what he's been doing. "You don't need to sleep that much. Not so much you can't spend five minutes having fun."

Sidney sighs. "Yes, I do. And it's fine. I'm fine."

Jordy looks him over. "You want it as bad as I did a minute ago."

Jordy's problem is partly that he feels too young, sometimes, and he plays like he doesn't trust everybody else to count on him. Sidney says, "After the game. Okay?"

"I'll make it great," Jordy promises.

He definitely tries, both on the ice and in Sidney's bedroom. He's better at hockey than he is at sex, but it's hard to fuck up a blowjob to the point where it's no fun. When he's done, Sidney jerks him off and he passes out all over Sidney's pillow.

It's not as comfortable to sleep in the guest room, where the bed smells too much like lavender, but it's easier than trying to sack out next to Jordy, who tries to hug Sidney in his sleep.

Sidney wants to ask him to leave, but Jordy needs a safe place to crash. If that's Sidney's bed, he'll deal. He's given up more for his team, and he will do it again, gladly, when he needs to.

Over breakfast, Jordy asks, "Are we okay?"

"Yeah." Sidney smiles at him. It's not the easiest thing looking cheerful first thing in the morning, but he's good at smiling when he doesn't really mean it. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"No reason, I guess." Jordy pours himself a second cup of coffee. "Do you want to do anything tomorrow?"

"I'm having lunch with Colby, and I told Flower I'd have dinner with him and Tanger," Sidney says. "You can come if you want."

"No--no, that's cool. We're cool."

Jordy chokes a couple of times in the next game and Sidney can't tell what's going on with him. His normal rhythm is just gone, like he's forgetting how to skate.

"I don't know what to say to Jordy," he says to Therrien. "I could practice with him more."

"Everybody has bad days. Let's see how he's doing tomorrow," Therrien says, and he's right.

That comment makes Sidney wonder whether he's as full of himself as the media thinks he is, pretending anything he does makes his team better, other than playing with them. He can see the hard numbers on when Flower's doing better--which he was, till his injury, and the only thing Sidney can do about that is keep him company.

He's paying attention to Jordy's shots on goal, and to everybody else he's worked with. He's afraid he's focusing too much on Jordy; Sidney can't do his job if he's not equally aware of all the guys, and whether they're having an on night or an off night. He starts gathering all the numbers he can think of and reads Behindthenet until his eyes cross.

Some of the statistics nerd stuff is obvious: if a guy is having a worse night than normal, then he might snap out of it without any help. If there's a pattern, though, that's when Sidney might need to step in and snap him out of it. He can see a few swings in his teammates' numbers, but it's hard to tell whether they mean anything.

He talks to Mario about it over a Sunday dinner when Gonch and Geno are there, because if anything's going to translate easily it's numbers about hockey. Mario says, "I don't know how you find the time," and smiles at Sidney. "It's good to work with all this information, but you have to trust your gut, too. If the numbers say one thing and you know it's not right for your players, don't do it."

Sidney nods. "Yeah, I'm trying to make sure I don't just look at the hard facts."

"You'd have to get more numbers than this to have a number for everything."

Sidney makes a face at the thought of devoting more time to collecting data instead of playing. Nathalie laughs and says, "Don't, you're scaring him. If you want to design sabermetrics for hockey, Sid, I say follow your dream."

"But Mario's right," Gonch says, and glances at Geno, who looks like he knows something funny is happening, but not what. "If you know your teammates, you know what they need. Sometimes they need to talk. Sometimes you invite them over for dinner." He nods to Mario.

"A good meal can make all the difference," Mario says.

Nathalie says, "I can see right through both of you." She shakes her head and smiles at Gonch. "You know you're always welcome. All of you."

"Thank you," Geno says, and Nathalie nods at him.

"He will eat everything if you let him," Gonch warns her.

"Not if Stephanie gets there first."

"Mom!" Stephanie turns red like Taylor does when she's embarrassed and hunches her shoulders.

"You're all the same--the minute you step off the ice you want to empty the fridge."

Sidney tries to change the subject before Stephanie gets any more miserable. "What happens if my gut gets it wrong?" He trusts Mario's advice a lot more than he trusts himself.

"Talk it over with someone. That's why we've got a coach. You can ask me anything," Mario says.

"But if you're busy," Sidney says, and catches himself before he can say anything else that sounds whiny. "No, I know, I'll talk to the A's."

"Anybody will listen," Gonch says.

Geno says, "I try," and Sidney grins at him. He's not going to talk about exactly what he's doing with anybody, especially not at the dinner table. Still, it's good to know they'd listen, whether or not they got every word.

"Thanks," he says.

The numbers help some, and so does Mario's advice. Sidney gets better at figuring out who needs what and when they need it--Tanger's just as great as he was in Wilkes-Barre, and with a little encouragement from Sidney, he gets better.

But the team's numbers overall don't pick up till after New Year's, no matter what he says or does.

 

[Shut up, hat tricks are sexy]

Then there's the game when Sidney feels like he spends the whole time yelling for Geno, who racks up three beautiful goals.

Traditions are traditions, no matter how new they are, but everything Sidney does isn't a repetition of what he's done before.

Or he'd wait longer. He wouldn't have to bite the inside of his cheek through the press scrum--the few times they have questions for him that aren't about what a fucking rock star Geno is--and he wouldn't tell Geno the first drink's on him if he just waits a minute longer and then nudge him into the washroom in his post-game suit when it's just the two of them.

They always go last, anyway. No one's going to come check on them.

Geno says, "What?" like nobody's ever bodychecked him into a stall before, and, okay, maybe they do things differently in Russia. He gets it when Sidney kisses him, and after one heart-stopping breath, he kisses back.

Sidney asks, "Okay?" with his hand on Geno's fly, telegraphing where he's going. Geno knows a bunch of words he's not allowed to use with the press, but it's easier to keep things simple. Sidney can't speak French when he's excited, so he's not going to make Geno try to use much English.

"Yes, of course," Geno says, and kisses him again, settling both his hands on Sidney's ass. They could do this all night, as far as Sidney's concerned. Someone might miss them eventually--especially since Geno's the hero of the game--but the heat of his mouth is good enough that Sidney doesn't care.

There's a clock ticking in the back of Sidney's head, no matter how much he tries to pay attention to the way Geno's thigh feels when they're rocking against each other. "Gonna ruin your suit," Sidney says against his mouth.

"So?"

Sidney's done plenty of almost impossible things in his life, and moving Geno's hands off himself isn't one of them. Just because for a second it feels like he's taking away all his own body heat--he can do it, he does it, and he kisses Geno's cheek like he needs some kind of apology. "God, I want you."

"Me, too," Geno says, and leans down to kiss him like he doesn't know why Sidney's going to his knees.

Sidney laughs against his mouth and gets Geno's pants open before he tries to pull away again. "Come on, let me."

Geno undoes Sidney's fly. "You let me, too."

"Okay, I promise." Sometimes it's hard to wait, but Sidney has less trouble keeping his mind on what he's doing once he gets started--back on the washroom floor, but it's different this time, with Geno's fingers on his cheek. Sidney wants to tell him how it feels to watch him play, to watch him score, but there aren't enough words that mean "awesome" and besides he'd have to figure out how to define them all.

It's easier to show him and make him feel it--although Sidney's not sure he's good enough to really get the point across. But this is Geno, who takes kids' crayon stick figures and treats them like they're real art. He's moaning from about thirty seconds of Sidney's not-that-great blowjob like it's another hat trick, his voice low and soft like he's trying not to make noise but he can't help it.

Sidney hums back at him and Geno pats his cheek--at least like this, they're as incoherent as each other. Next time maybe they'll be somewhere where it's safe to make noise, if there's a next time.

There's going to be if Sidney has anything to say about it. He pulls Geno deeper by the hips and gets him to gasp before Sidney lets up a little, then dives in again.

"Sid--" Geno's breathing is wrecked, like it should be after everything he's done, and he's struggling for words.

They don't need to talk, and Sidney's not going to stop to make that obvious, not when he can hollow his cheeks instead.

Geno's head thunks against the stall divider. "Stop, I--stop--"

"Really?" Sidney asks. He sounds like he's been working as hard as Geno has.

"Can't--" Geno shakes his head, looking down at him with glazed eyes. He moves one of Sidney's hands from his hip to his dick, and Sidney gets it.

"Come here." Sidney helps him slide down the wall, the clumsiest he's seen Geno sober, and kisses him again when they're on the same level.

Geno nips at his bottom lip. "Pants."

"You're good."

"No--" Geno rolls his eyes and reaches for him, getting Sidney to kneel up. He gets Sidney's underwear down just far enough to pull him in so their dicks rub against each other. "There."

Sidney reaches down to touch himself, to touch Geno, and their fingers bump together. He's been waiting for this, on edge half the game and losing his mind since he got Geno alone. A little more friction, Geno's palm on the head of his dick, and he's losing it like he's the one who's been getting a blowjob. "Fuck, I'm gonna--don't you dare laugh at me--"

"Not laughing." Geno leans forward enough to kiss him.

It's been years since Sidney came from a thirty-second handjob and having somebody's tongue in his mouth, but it's Geno's tongue, and Geno's not laughing at all. He's coming, too, and making a noise into Sidney's mouth that sounds like it might hurt.

"You okay?" Sidney asks, as soon as he has enough breath to ask.

Geno closes his eyes and opens them again. "Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Fuck yes." Geno kisses him again, lingering. "Have to get up. Have to go celebrate."

"We have to wash our hands." Moving his fingers reminds Sidney that if they don't get off the floor soon, they'll be glued together. "Like, right now."

"Okay, okay." Before Geno lets go, he kisses Sidney one more time.

They are definitely doing this again. It's almost good enough to make Sidney hope Geno has a bad game soon so he has a reason, but he wouldn't jinx anyone like that.

 

[The best laid plans]

Sidney yells, "Holy fuck!" in Geno's ear, more than once, before they're off the ice.

Anybody would, watching him get his second hat trick in a fucking month, and everybody is. Everybody's shouting and mobbing Geno.

Most of them probably aren't trying to figure out the best way to get him alone the second the game's over, or anyway, Sidney hopes they aren't.

It's hours and hours before they're alone, and then it's only because Sidney offers to give Geno a ride home, and Geno's drunk enough that he says, "Sure, Sid," and puts his arm around Sidney instead of saying he'd rather ride with Gonch and have a real conversation, or stay and party longer. Either one makes more sense than walking out with Sidney right then, leaning on him like he'd fall over if he tried to stand up on his own.

As soon as they're in the car, Geno leans over to the driver's seat and kisses him, sloppy-wet and sharp with whatever he's been drinking. It takes too long for Sidney's better judgment to kick in, and then he pushes Geno's hand away from his thigh. "Hang on, okay?" he says, as much to himself as to Geno. He sounds terrible and his head is a little light, but it is too cold to do anything in a parked car, not in January in Pittsburgh. "When we get there."

Geno sighs. "No fun."

Sidney puts his hands at ten and two and drives two miles under the speed limit all the way home. It would be bad enough to get pulled over on a normal night. Every time Geno shifts in his seat, Sidney can't help wondering if Geno's going to touch him again.

He's a wreck by the time he parks the car, and they haven't touched since they left the parking lot. "Do you want to call Gonch and let him know where you are?" he asks, thinking of the billets that would've worried about him.

"He knows." Geno gets out of the car, moving more steadily than Sidney expects him to be able to.

Sidney opens the door of the house for them, his hands shaking until the keys jingle. "Hey, did you really need me to carry you to the car?"

"Yes," Geno says, and knocks Sidney into the door as soon as it's shut behind them. "Need you."

"Not what I said," Sidney says, except it comes out as a moan because Geno's already getting his pants open and his hands are warm. "Wait."

By the time he remembers how to say the word, Geno's on his knees. "We waited already."

"This isn't how it's supposed to work." Sidney bites his lip hard until he can think a little bit. "You were great out there. Amazing."

"Yes?" Geno sounds impatient.

"I should do this for you."

Geno blows out his breath. "Wait," he says, and pulls Sidney's underwear out of the way. The noise he makes when he gets Sidney in his mouth is the most self-satisfied sigh Sidney has heard in years, and if he could breathe at all Sidney would want to laugh.

Instead, he says, "Fuck," and puts his hand on the back of Geno's head, lightly. "This okay?"

He's kind of expecting Geno to pull off and say "No," but he's wrong--Geno says, "More," and reaches up to get Sidney's fingers good and tangled in his hair.

"Oh god." Sidney tries to make himself shut up because the words come out sounding pathetic, but there's no way he can stay quiet for long. Geno feels too good. He can barely even make himself hold still, and he's made himself do thousands of things that should be more difficult. "I--fuck--can you--"

"What?" Geno asks.

He can't make himself ask Geno to hold him back. It's not fair, he's better than that, and he can't get the words out anyway. "Don't stop."

Geno laughs and goes back to driving him fucking crazy.

"Fuck, you're good at that." Sidney has to think hard to stop himself from locking his knees, which would make things impossible. He knows that, he knows he could pass out in the stupidest way if he can't stay relaxed.

He's the opposite of relaxed. His hips jerk and he says, "Sorry, sorry."

Geno pats his hip and sets a rhythm that's going to take Sidney to pieces in a few seconds. "Jesus," Sidney says. "You're--I--fuck, I want you."

This time when Geno hums, it sounds like "Yes," even though there's no real word there.

Maybe that's just because it's the only word Sidney can think.

He wants it to last and it can't, he can't. He's pretty sure Geno gets what he means when he says, "I'm--G, I--" and pats his cheek urgently.

Geno makes another smug noise and sucks him through it till Sidney's panting like he's just off the best shift of his life. The only thing keeping him from being laid out on the floor like someone knocked him over is the door behind him, and the world's narrowed down, his vision weird around the edges, for a few moments.

He tries to stop himself from saying something idiotic and comes out with, "That was--wow," which isn't going to win him any awards. He tugs on Geno's shoulder and gets him to stand up--not like it takes much. "Maybe before we do anything else we should go to bed?"

"Maybe," Geno says, and kisses him, deep and filthy as hell. He leans into Sidney like he doesn't want either of them to move an inch, except he's grinding against Sidney's hip.

Sidney thinks about getting them turned around and sucking Geno off right on the welcome mat. "It's not that far to the bedroom," he says, between kisses.

"Okay, okay."

They stop about five times between the door and the bedroom, but it's easier there. Sidney hasn't gotten naked with anybody since Jordy, not actually-for-sex naked, and the way Geno's skin feels against his is enough to make him want all over again like he hasn't already gotten off.

Sidney's got his face in Geno's neck when Geno says, "Fuck me."

He tries to listen long enough to make sure he wasn't hearing wrong, and moves so he can see Geno's face. "Say that again?"

Geno rubs his thumb over Sidney's bottom lip. "I want you to fuck me."

"We can do that." He's already getting hard again, and if Geno keeps touching him, he's going to be as eager as he was when they finally made it through the door.

Some other time, they'll take it slow. Every time Sidney tries to back off and make sure Geno's good with another finger in his ass, or anything, Geno says, "Come on," like Sidney's teasing him on purpose.

He keeps up the same speed when Sidney's flat on his back and Geno's straddling him. They've spent long enough learning how to move with each other that it's easier than thinking to fuck up into him and jerk him off, to catch every little shift in tempo from the way his legs tense. "Jesus," Sidney says.

Geno laughs, half a moan. "Can't say my name yet?"

"Oh, fuck you." Sidney rocks his hips faster and Geno lets his head tip back, his mouth open.

"Again."

"Whenever you want."

It can't last as long as Sidney wants it to, and it's not long enough before Geno's coming all over his hand and his chest, and not long at all after that when Sidney comes with Geno watching him like they're about to make a powerplay and there are three seconds on the clock.

Geno kneels up and kisses him again, pressing their chests together. They were both going to need a shower anyway. Geno's hair is sticking to his forehead. "Best night," he says.

"Yeah." Sidney pushes Geno's hair away from his eyes. "You want to stay over?" He's not sure he can drive if Geno really wants to go home, but there are always cabs.

"Sure."

They shower together, basically holding each other up. Sidney thinks about maybe sleeping in the spare bedroom, but the sheets aren't that bad. "Left side or right side?" he asks.

Geno shrugs. "Too tired to care."

That doesn't make any sense to Sidney, but he can work with it, and with the way Geno hugs him when they're in bed. He falls asleep even faster than he expects to.

They have a few days between games.

It's a good thing sex really is great cardio, or Sidney would feel more guilty about spending a lot of that time in bed with Geno. And on the couch. And against the door again, because they had to spend a whole practice keeping their hands off each other.

Everything is fucking amazing until the next game, when Sidney takes a hit and goes down, knowing his ankle is fucked.

 

[Long time passing]

Sitting on the sidelines nursing his ankle and watching his team play is a special kind of hell. Sidney tries to distract himself by messing with the statistics and looking for any new patterns--other than that Geno is kicking all the ass in the world, which is obvious to anybody with eyes.

Therrien knows part of the change is the way Sidney is working with Geno off the ice, helping him tighten up his technique. Nobody has seen the charts that make it obvious that all the sex they're having is great for Geno's playing, too. Sidney doesn't need to do all his pre-game stuff when he's not playing, but he's not skipping the new parts while Geno's on a hot streak.

The rest of the team can take care of themselves for a while, although Max has started giving Sidney funny looks and sometimes Jordy looks at him and sighs. They're doing okay without his help. Besides, Sidney's giving them plenty of advice.

Sidney is watching a western conference game with Flower, both of them nursing their ankles, and poking at the numbers during the commercials when his computer eats the main file and he swears at it like it's a Flyer.

"What the hell's wrong?" Flower asks him.

"I'm tracking stats for the team, and now my file isn't working."

"Which stats?"

Sidney glares at him. "All the ones I can think of, of course."

"Aren't there people who do that?"

"Yes, but I need information they're not examining the way I am." Sidney rubs his eyes.

"Is this a captain thing or a Sid thing?"

"What?"

Flower holds out his hands for the laptop. "I've used a computer. Let me see if I can get it to work."

"If you can, more power to you." He hands the computer to Flower, who taps at it, reboots it twice, and somehow gets the file to work. "There! Okay, let me see what you're working on."

"Give it back," Sidney says.

Flower ignores him and scrolls through enough numbers to make anybody's eyes cross. Like anybody with sense, he starts by looking at his own stats. "Wait--why is that date highlighted?"

"I keep track of when I've tried something specific with someone who needed it. As a captain, I mean."

"But--" Flower pulls up the calendar, then starts grinning. "I remember that. Something specific like having sex with them?"

Sidney shoves him--not too hard, because if they fuck up their ankles worse they'll be out longer--and holds out his hands for the computer. "Fuck off."

"You did. But--who else have you got in there?"

"Fuck off."

Flower keeps reading. "So--all these highlights. Did you do all these guys?"

"Fuck no." Sidney clears his throat. "Not Colby. We're not like that."

"Sid, we're not like that either." Flower's shaking slightly, but he doesn't look scared. He looks like he's going to explode. "Are you dating--" he pulls the computer farther away from Sidney, and stares at the screen. "You're not dating Tanger. He'd tell me."

"No. I'm not." Things are complicated enough with Geno that he's not going to tell Flower he's not dating anybody, but he's definitely not dating Tanger.

"Or--you fucked Max?" Flower laughs and stares at him.

"No, I just--"

"Don't tell me! I don't want to know!" He doesn't give the computer back, though. Instead, he reads the file and laughs his ass off for about three minutes straight, past when the game is back on, and makes dumb comments like, "No, seriously, Max, and he never said anything?" and "Did you give Geno your class ring?" and "At least you haven't gone after Gonch. No one would have found your body."

Sidney crosses his arms and glares at him. There are only so many numbers in the file, and most of them are right off the internet.

Once Flower stops laughing and sits there wiping his eyes, he says, "I can help if you want. With the numbers part. Not the other part," he adds quickly, like Sidney was about to ask. "That's your problem."

Sidney can handle it by himself, but it takes time and focus. It would be easier with someone else to check it over and make sure he hasn't put things in the wrong columns or messed up his formulas. "Okay," he says. "Thanks. Anyway, once you really look at the numbers without laughing, you won't think it's that funny."

"Yes, I will. But I won't tell anybody else." Flower mimes zipping his lips.

"Fine, but I'm getting results."

"I bet you are."

"Fuck off."

 

[Primus inter pares]

Sidney is so relieved to be able to skate again instead of armchair-captaining and endless PT that it feels like he's flying through the first few games. At home, he's got his routine set up with Geno.

The first away game, he tries to talk to Flower about it when they're done unpacking, because kicking him out of his room isn't cool, and Flower says, "I'm going to hang out with Max. All afternoon. Till the game," before Sidney can even start the sentence.

"Okay," Sidney says, instead of "Thanks." "Tell him I said hi."

"You tell him. Or, no, you're going to be too busy." Flower shakes his head. "When are you going to make an honest man out of G?"

Sidney rolls his eyes. "We're not. It's not like that."

Flower laughs at him. "I've seen your spreadsheet, Sid. Unless there's stuff you're not writing down, and if there is--"

"--there isn't--"

"--then, I was going to say, don't tell me." Flower points at Sidney's laptop and Sidney curses the day he ever shared the password. "You're breaking your own pattern, here."

Sidney folds his arms and denies it. "Geno's playing great. That's the pattern."

"Yeah, but Tanger had a rough night last night. Are you giving him a pep talk before the game?"

"Sure." Sidney's been talking to everybody when they need it. "That's my job, right?"

"Okay. Tell him to keep his greasy hair off my bed."

"Not here. Why would I bring Tanger here to talk to him?"

"I don't know, Sid, because maybe you shouldn't blow guys in somebody else's arena even if you're quiet about it? The janitors at the Igloo all have crushes on you, but here, not so much."

The thought of getting caught makes Sidney's cheeks heat. "I'm not going to do anything that stupid. Again. That was why I was going to ask you to leave, but you're leaving anyway."

"Because I'm not getting in the way of your sex life, yeah." Flower pauses for a second and Sidney hopes he's done, but he asks, "What are you going to do when Geno's streak breaks?"

The words make Sidney's stomach turn over. Maybe it's going to happen, but that doesn't mean it's okay to talk about it. Sidney throws a pillow at him. "Take that back."

"Sorry, if his streak breaks." Flower throws the pillow onto the other bed. "Are you going to go back to doing your thing with Jordy, or Tanger, or whoever's off?"

The numbers say Sidney should, and he's been letting the rest of the team slip. He talks to them about their play, and he talked to Colby plenty, too. That didn't stop him from getting traded. The first dated highlight in the charts is Flower, and there's still only one date marked on his stats. He doesn't usually sound like he's jealous of Geno, but Sidney can't figure out what else he wants. "If you want to have sex before the game, we've got time."

Flower laughs again. "No, thanks." It doesn't hurt as much as it should, but Sidney doesn't really want to have sex with Flower. Not unless he needs it.

There's a knock at the door, and Flower calls, "Just a second," to the person on the other side. More quietly he says, "Figure out what you want, okay?"

Geno is at the door with a toiletries case, like he couldn't just borrow Sidney's toothbrush. "Bye, Flower," Sidney says, and pushes him toward the door.

"Hey, G," Flower says, and gives Geno a high-five on his way into the hall.

"Hey," Geno says, and grins at Sidney. "You kicked him out?"

"No," Sidney says, and shuts the door behind Flower, maybe a little harder than he means to. He doesn't slam doors unless things are going seriously wrong, and nothing's wrong here. "He decided to go bother Max."

"Did you fight?"

"No." Sidney catches himself being too loud and says it again, more softly. "No. He's just trying to help."

"Help with what?"

The only thing Flower's actually been helpful with is the statistics project, and there's no way Geno won't figure out what the highlights mean, since his numbers are getting hard to read from too many of them. Sidney would tell anybody he was dating about it because it has to do with sex, but--"We're not dating, are we?"

Geno fumbles his toiletries and has to catch the case with his free hand before it hits the floor. "You want to--to dump me?"

"No." Sidney stares at him. There's something wrong with everybody's hearing today. "I can't dump you because we're not dating. We're just--" he looks at his laptop and swears he won't give Geno the password, and that as soon as he gets a chance to figure out how, he'll change it so Flower can't snoop. He'll deal with all the numbers by himself if he has to. "Okay, this is kind of complicated."

"Is it?"

"Sit down, okay?" Sidney says, and gets his computer started up while Geno sits on the bed.

"If you want porn, Russian sites are best," Geno says, but he doesn't sound like his heart's in the joke.

"Thanks, but not now. Maybe later." Sidney brings up the file, saves a backup while he's thinking about it, and hands it to Geno, starting with his part of the data. "I've been working on this for a while."

Geno looks at the information for a few moments before he says anything. "Did I forget anniversary?" he asks, and knocks his shoulder against Sidney's.

"No, that's not the point. Just--you've been great on the ice for months, right?"

"I try."

Sidney nudges him right back and taps the screen at the beginning of the highlights. "You've been good all along, and you started being great here."

"Yes." Geno puts his arm around Sidney's shoulders and kisses the top of his head. "I understand. You like hat tricks."

"Everybody likes hat tricks," Sidney says. He doesn't want Geno to let him go, but they have to get through this conversation or it's going to bother him. "That was the start of when you were great, that's what I mean. There's a relationship between our--" he trips over using the word again and makes himself say it "--our relationship and you playing great."

Geno grins at him. "Your advice. And I'm happy."

Sidney swallows hard. "I helped some of the other guys, too." He holds out his hands for the laptop and takes it from Geno, who's not grinning anymore. He shows Geno Jordy's numbers and waits for him to say something. "I keep track of all of it."

"You help everyone," Geno says.

"No, I mean--" Sidney coughs. He doesn't want to have to spell it out. He has reasons for everything he's done, but Flower's given him enough shit about them that he's not sure anybody else will understand them. "Not just talking to them."

"Practice?"

"I mean like I, you know, helped you."

Geno frowns like he doesn't get it. "You fucked Jordy?"

"Yes," Sidney says, and nods encouragingly because Geno gets it.

"And write it down." Geno looks at the numbers again, then at Sidney. "Why?"

That's an easier question to answer. "If I don't know what I did and when I did it, I can't figure out whether it helped. And it does. Not just you, but Jordy." Sidney points at the screen. "The pattern is pretty clear."

"That was before," Geno says, and taps the last highlighted date in Jordy's columns. "Not since we started."

"Yeah." Sidney sighs. "Jordy's been slipping for a while--see, it's pretty clear in this column, and here--and I haven't done anything to get him back on track."

"You talk to him," Geno says slowly, like he's waiting for Sidney to contradict him and say they've been going at it every chance they get.

"Yeah, but that isn't enough, or his numbers would be better. And Max--" That section's data are a little better, but they're not as impressive as they could be.

Geno says, "Max?" quietly, and doesn't quite relax until he gets a look at the dates. "Before."

"Oh--yeah." Sidney goes to Tanger's next.

Geno shifts his weight away from Sidney on the bed. "You didn't tell me."

Sidney checks the dates--two of them are in January, between Geno's hat tricks--before he says, "It was twice. He was having a rough month, and you were having an awesome month." He frowns. "Besides, you and me, we weren't even serious then. We hooked up once, in a washroom."

"Are we serious now?" Geno asks, looking at the wall instead of Sidney.

"Do you want to be?" Sidney asks.

"You done with math?"

There are more pages Geno should probably see--Flower's not really part of the discussion, but Brooksie's January wasn't so hot either. "Almost," Sidney says, and starts with Brooksie's to get it out of the way.

Geno doesn't say anything at the two January dates. He doesn't look like he wants to say anything to Sidney at all.

"And, okay, and this is the last one, Flower."

"Flower?" Geno sounds like he's about to chase Flower down and knock him out in the middle of the hotel, and he's got a key to Max's room.

Sidney pulls a soccer mom arm on him. "Just once. Months ago. Before anything else."

The way Geno glares at Sidney makes him think he should get out of the way and let Geno knock a hole in the wall. It'd be easier to explain than trying to tell his coach, his agent, and his parents that he got scratched because one of his teammates was mad at him. "You didn't tell me."

Sidney shrugs. "It wasn't a big deal. Especially not with Flower, really. He needed a hand. I gave him one."

"A hand?"

"Well. Um. Sometimes." Mostly with Jordy, and he's not going to say that. The team needs Jordy in one piece almost as much as they need Sidney. More so, since they've sort of adjusted to having Sidney on IR. "But they're my teammates. I was trying to help them--no, not trying." He points at the laptop. "Look, you can see it did help, a lot of the time. More than it didn't, and I have enough data to say that."

Geno takes a shallow breath and lets it out, then a deeper one. "You like them?"

"Most of the time, yeah. They're good guys."

"No." Geno sighs again, so long it sounds like he's using all the air in the room. "You like them? You want to date them?"

Sidney tries to imagine dating Max and laughs. His mom likes Max, but she doesn't approve of him. She approves of Geno more, and she's glad Sidney's making friends with him. "No way."

"You want to date me?"

That sounds almost as weird as dating Max--what's the point of taking someone to a nice restaurant one-on-one and making small talk when they already know each other? "Can we just keep doing what we've been doing instead? That's been a lot of fun."

Geno is quiet for long enough that Sidney expects him to say something longer--and much more intelligent--than, "You like me?" when he gets the words out.

"What?" Sidney stares at him. "What am I doing wrong? Yeah, of course I like you. I don't spend this much time with people I don't like."

After a few seconds, Geno nods. "I like you, too."

"I figured you probably did." Sidney shakes his head and tries to figure out exactly what Geno's looking for. "Can we keep hanging out and having sex?"

That gets Geno to smile crookedly. "Sure. Maybe more serious?"

"What does that mean? I already make you call Gonch when you're going to be out late," he offers. "And we watched those terrible movies."

"They were great movies," Geno says.

"I don't fall asleep during great movies."

Geno elbows him. "Answer question."

Sidney's first impulse is to say, "I don't know what you're looking for," but he's had to answer a zillion questions over the years, many of which he had no answer to. "I don't know what it would mean that we're not doing now."

There's another silence, a lot more awkward than silence usually is with Geno. "Don't have sex with other people and not tell me."

"I haven't been," Sidney says. "Not since--well, you saw the calendar."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise." Sidney offers Geno his right hand. "If I can't, you can't, okay?"

Geno takes his hand and shakes it. "Okay."

"So you'll tell me if you want somebody else," Sidney says, thinking it through. "And I'll tell you if I do. And then what? What if you want somebody awful?"

"Then we talk." Geno closes the laptop gently and sets it on the floor by the head of the bed. "If he's awful, maybe I change my mind. Or if you want--" he makes a disgusted face "--Sergei. Then we talk."

Sidney shoves at his shoulders. "Shut up. I don't want Gonch."

"Even if he plays bad?"

"Even if starting tomorrow he's the worst player ever," Sidney promises.

Geno pretends to wipe his brow. "Okay. Anybody else, we talk."

"Okay." Sidney leans against him for a couple of seconds, glad he hasn't left or gotten too angry to work things out. "So if tonight Jordy's terrible, I can work with him tomorrow?"

He can feel Geno's shoulders lifting as he takes a deep breath. "You can fuck Jordy to make him better at hockey. But tell me before. And talk about it after."

Sidney snorts. "How many details do you want?"

"All of them." Geno sounds like he's teasing, maybe, but he doesn't look like he is. Sidney can't read his expression very well from sideways on, so he stands in front of Geno to get a better view.

"I don't kiss and tell," Sidney says, and Geno frowns a little. He rephrases it. "I'm not going to give you all the details unless it's okay that I tell Jordy I'm going to tell you, first. Because we're together."

"Tell him." Geno puts his hands on Sidney's waist and pulls him down onto his lap. "Tell all of them."

"I will." Sidney kisses him, and it seals the promise better than shaking hands would. Then his watch beeps. "But if we're going to get any sleep before the game, I have to blow you now."

Geno shakes his head, grinning at him like he's crazy, like Geno didn't show up at his room to have sex in the first place. "Okay, but only if you let me blow you, too."

Sidney's been resisting making that part of the tradition since the beginning, but he can change it a little for Geno. "We can do that."

 

[Postgame report]

It's a while before Sidney asks Geno, "Jordy, today?" and Geno nods.

He's no good at telling stories like the one he's got for Geno afterward, but he gives it his best shot. It's easier than talking to the press about why his team lost a game, anyway. "He didn't think I meant it when I offered."

"Yeah?" Geno is warm against his side in bed, ready to take a nap as soon as Sidney finishes explaining what happened.

"He thinks we're dating, you and me." Sidney says the words into Geno's shoulder, as if that makes them any safer. Jordy won't talk to the press or anyone else who'd make a big deal out of it, but it still makes Sidney feel even more naked than he actually is. Something he cares about is out there in the world, and he can't keep it safe and secret.

"You tell him that?"

"I told him the whole thing." Sidney tries to remember what Jordy had said when he was done with the short version of the story--"I'm kind of dating Geno, sort of, I guess. We're spending a lot of time together, anyway, and--and having sex--but he's okay with it if I want to have sex with you, too, as long as I tell him. Especially because you've been having a lousy week and I'm worried about your playing." Jordy had made a face Sidney couldn't read. He leaves that part out. "He didn't say anything for long enough I wondered if he was choking. And then he said, 'Okay, I guess. Sure.'"

Geno chuckles. "He's okay?"

"Yeah." The next part of the story is easier to explain but harder to say out loud. "The massage room was full, and I knew you were back here, so we did it in the washroom."

"Did what?"

Telling Geno half an hour after it happened is nothing like telling Flower weeks after the fact. Sidney can feel his heart going faster like he's back in the washroom, but he doesn't know how to talk about in ways that get Geno going, too. "I gave him a blowjob."

Geno is quiet for a few moments. "Why?"

Sidney sits up and frowns at him, but Geno doesn't look or sound upset. "Because he could be so much better than he has been, the last few games. Because he needs to know I believe in him. That we're here for him."

"We?"

"Everybody. The whole team."

"How you fit whole team into washroom?"

Sidney rolls his eyes at Geno, who's grinning at him. "You know what I mean."

"Yes," Geno agrees. "What else?"

"Then I brushed my teeth and came home to tell you and get some sleep." Sidney shrugs.

"Details," Geno says. "You promised."

"What do you want to know?" Sidney closes his eyes and tries to remember anything important. "Jordy wears tighty-whities. You know, briefs. It was over pretty fast. He likes pulling my hair."

Geno runs his fingers through Sidney's hair like he's going to give him the kind of scalp scratching everybody needs after too long in a sweaty helmet. "You like when he does that?" he asks, his voice softer and a little lower.

"Yeah, sometimes." Sidney leans into the touch. "He was kind of desperate." That sounds too mean. "Don't chirp him for it."

"No, no chirping about this."

"Okay."

"You get off too?"

Sidney would shake his head, but Geno's still rubbing his scalp and he doesn't want to move away. "No. I knew you were waiting, and I didn't really need it. Not after last night."

When he's thinking about last night, he has to work at it not to smirk like he just scored against the Flyers. He's good at acting like he hasn't been doing anything unusual no matter how much sex he's been having. That's been useful--most of the guys don't seem to know there's anything going on. Even Mario, who knows Geno visits him all the time, said, "I'm glad you're getting along so well," and reminded Sidney that if anything got strange between him and Geno, it might have something to do with their different cultures, which Sidney isn't likely to forget.

Geno kisses him hard. "Not about what you need."

"No, it was for Jordy."

Geno sighs like that was somehow the wrong answer. "You let him come in your mouth?"

"Yeah." Sidney kisses him again in case that bothers Geno.

Judging from the way Geno's thrusting against his leg, rolling his hips lazily, it doesn't bother him much at all. "Was it good?"

"I think so. He liked it, and it's helped before."

"For you." Geno tugs on his hair gently.

Sidney thinks it's a dumb question, but he can't figure out any answer other than the obvious one. "Well, yeah."

"Why?" Geno lets Sidney go and puts both his hands under the covers. He's jerking himself pretty slowly compared to how he gets when he needs to come, but Sidney's not in the mood for a show.

"I gave him what he needed," Sidney says. It doesn't sound like jerk-off material outside his head, but the thought is getting him excited all over again. "Can I blow you?"

Geno makes a choking noise that turns into a laugh after a second. "When story's over."

"I don't know what else to say."

"Jordy--" Geno takes a breath in the middle of his sentence. "He offer you anything?"

"Yeah. He's a good guy. But I wanted--" Sidney frowns at Geno's moving hand. "I want you, today, not him. Can I at least jack you off?"

Geno hums like he has to think about the question, then pushes the covers back so Sidney can reach him and they won't have to replace the top sheet before they can sleep. "You say no to Jordy?" It's a question, not a request.

"I just said that." Sidney kisses him, hoping he's said enough. He's running out of words.

Geno turns his face away a little, breaking the kiss. "He wants you."

"I guess so." Sidney tries to explain. It doesn't sound interesting in his head, so maybe it'll be boring enough for Geno to stop talking about it. "I hope I gave him what he needed, but I don't need to have sex with him. I know he's on my team. I know he's going to give us everything he's got, and I know he trusts me to take care of him."

"Good captain."

The way Geno says it with his voice rough and his hand moving on his dick in time with Sidney's, it sounds like the dirtiest thing in the world. The words go right down his spine and he moans, grabbing himself with his free hand. "I'm trying, but--"

"You are good. Best." Geno sits up and half-rolls onto Sidney, pinning his legs down and stroking his dick until Sidney moans again and shakes his head.

"I fuck things up. I almost did with you before we even started."

Geno sighs--and, yeah, that was the wrong thing to say--and kisses him. "Me, too. You are still good. Jordy knows."

"Yeah, I guess."

Geno kisses him again and bites at his lip, twisting his hand a little on Sidney's dick to make his hips buck. "Flower knows."

Flower knows a lot more than he wants to, and he's going to make Sidney explain about Jordy. The bare bones, anyway, nothing like this, but talking about it again will be embarrassing. "I wish he didn't."

"I know," Geno says.

Sidney snorts. "You're biased."

"Because you fuck me?" Geno kisses him again, and it's almost enough. "Then half Penguins biased like me. Other half still think you're great."

"Sometimes I'm good," Sidney admits, his breath shallow. "When--when I can help them."

"Who thinks you're not great captain?" Geno bites his lower lip before he can answer and Sidney's not sure he could come up with anybody's name if he wanted to. This isn't the time anyway. "They complain, you blow them or I knock them down."

Sidney laughs once and pulls him down for another kiss. He's getting close enough that it's hard to talk. "Okay, okay."

"Or I get biased Pens to beat them up." Geno strokes him faster. "Then they all agree with me, or else."

"Fuck." The orgasm hits him like a check into the boards at full speed and Sidney tries to stop himself from making too much noise. He's not really getting off on the thought of his team having a fight, especially over him. Or Geno knocking people down for him. Or sucking off the rest of the team. It's all of that, the things they'd do for him, how far he'd go to help them if he needed to, and everything he's already done.

Geno kisses him through it. "You need us to fight more for you?" he asks, smiling, when Sidney has enough of his brain back to make his eyes focus.

"No." Sidney taps his shoulder and gets him to roll onto his back so it's easier to blow him. "We're doing all right the way we are." 

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering about the title: Sidney has sex with (most of) his teammates in order to help them be closer to the perfect expression of how they should play. He doesn't want to intensify their faults, he wants to intensify what he thinks of as their best and truest selves.
> 
> Therefore, this story is a series of Platonic blowjobs.


End file.
